The Aftermath
by Inkgirl16
Summary: The aftermath of Dumbledore's funeral. This is a RonHermione. One shot


Professor McGonagall looked around the empty hallways of Hogwarts. Most  
of the students had been escorted home by their parents but a few were   
still taking the express. She would go down and see them off as soon as  
she composed herself.

Minerva McGonagall was not easily given to emotion and found herself  
feeling slightly ashamed of the tears running down her cheeks. Now was  
not the time to lose control: she needed to be strong for her pupils.  
With Albus dead, she would need to be a pillar of strength, in these dark   
and dangerous times, for those who came back after the summer. Albus  
would never have wanted the school to close on his account and she would  
be damned if she would let a load of jumped up snobs tell her it was  
closing. She would keep Hogwarts open if it was the last thing she  
did.

With a haughty sniff and a quick dab of a handkerchief, Professor  
McGonagall regained her stiff upper lip and stalked out of the hall and  
towards the platform. It was time to say goodbye.

Molly Weasley watched as the train left the station. She clutched her   
daughter close. Ginny had been surprisingly cooperative about travelling  
home with her and Arthur. Molly supposed that a certain dark haired boy  
had had something to do with Ginny's willingness not to take the train  
and to side-along Apparate with her father. Ronald however, had been  
very insistent about riding the Hogwarts Express and staying with Harry  
and Hermione. Hermione. Mrs Weasley sighed, she had seen them today at  
the funeral. She had known it was coming, but now that it was actually   
here ... she didn't know how to feel. For years she had seen it. They  
reminded her a lot of Arthur and herself when they were young. Hermione,  
she'd mused, was just like her: stubborn, motherly and emotional. Of  
course she was far cleverer - definitely one of a kind in that aspect of  
her personality. As for Ron, she thought it was safe to say that Ron  
was a miniature version of his father.

She'd watched them for years bickering, arguing, sneaking looks, and  
trying to control their jealousy. Every summer, and occasional  
Christmases, for the past six years she'd seen them. At first she'd tried to deny  
it to herself, after all in her eyes Ron was still a baby, but that  
night after the incident at the Department of Mysteries she'd seen his  
face when he was told how badly Hermione had been hurt. He'd looked as   
though his world had just collapsed. She'd seen the look on Hermione's  
face when she saw the welts on his arms. There was no more denying it.

She'd been sure that they would get together in 6th year. When she'd  
read Ginny's letter informing her that Ron had a girlfriend she'd felt  
herself smile, but that smile had soon been replaced with a frown as  
she'd read the next line. Ron was going out with a girl called Lavender.  
She'd felt an instant dislike for the girl. She had decided that  
Hermione, and only Hermione, was good enough for her youngest son. It had been  
a relief when she'd learned they had broken up. She'd felt sure then   
that they would come to their senses and become a couple. It had reached  
the end of term, however, and they had still refused to acknowledge  
their feelings. She'd felt frustrated beyond all belief. She'd desperately  
wanted to say something to them but, as Arthur had told her, it had to  
be up to them - and now they had done it, or were at least on the verge  
of doing it, so she felt robbed. Of course she loved Hermione to  
pieces, she was like a second daughter, but it was hard.

Her Ronnie was about to be stolen from her by another girl and there  
was nothing she could do about it except sit back and watch her take him.

The Hogwarts Express was chugging a long quite merrily, but the   
atmosphere on it was most definitely not merry at all. Some children were  
still crying, many carriages were silent.

There was no one running up and down the corridors. No explosive noises   
coming from troublemakers' compartments; even the pets seemed quieter  
than usual. In a compartment near the end of the train sat four people,  
all of whom were quite silent.

A boy with dark messy hair sat staring out of the window, his eyes  
unfocused, his thoughts clearly miles away. He could not speak; his mentor,  
his protector was dead. How many more would have to suffer the same  
fate because of him? He looked at the two people sitting opposite him and   
he knew they would never agree to stay behind. They were his family and  
he loved them and they loved each other; perhaps in the end that would  
be enough to save them.

Sitting next to the dark haired boy was another. He looked pudgy and  
clumsy, but his eyes held determination. His hands were currently  
occupied holding a toad, who, for once, had decided to stay still and quiet in   
his master's lap. He knew the other three had something planned and  
whatever it was he would help, whether they liked it or not. He owed to  
his parents, to his gran and to himself.

On the opposite side of the pudgy, clumsy boy sat yet another boy with   
shaggy red hair and dozens of freckles. He looked like the kind of guy  
that was normally a bit of a laugh but today he looked sombre and grim,  
expressions unusual upon his face. Unlike the other two boys his mind  
was not on what lay ahead but on what sat beside him. It was time.

Next to him sat a girl with masses of brown curly locks and soft brown  
eyes.  
She was currently staring out of the window, thinking.

Her thoughts, unlike Harry's and Neville's, were not miles or even feet  
away. The subject of her thoughts was mere inches away from her, his  
long gangly arms laid at his side.  
She sighed a little. Today those arms had held her whilst she had  
sobbed unrestrainedly. His large, rough, clumsy hands had stroked her hair  
and his cobalt blue eyes had shone with tears.

She chanced a glance up at him and found him looking at her, a curious  
expression on his face. He gave her a small, lopsided smile and she  
couldn't help her lips twitching upwards into a soft smile. His eyes  
flickered across to Harry who was still staring out of the window and then  
to Neville who was now carefully stroking one of his beloved plants, a   
faraway expression on his face.

Then Ron looked at her again, and smiled. He looked away towards the  
compartment door and Hermione returned to her original position of  
looking out of the window.

Suddenly she felt something gently brush against the top of her hands.  
She looked down and saw Ron's long fingers softly running along the  
back of her hand. She felt her eyes grow a little bit wider and her breath  
quicken ever so slightly. She looked at him, but he was determinedly  
avoiding her eyes. His posture was stiff and rigid as his fingertips  
continued to slowly trace a pattern along the back of her hand. They  
seemed to be waiting for something. Almost as if they were asking for  
something, asking for permisson and in that moment Hermione understood what   
they were waiting for.

She carefully turned her hand so her palm was facing upwards. Ron's  
hand hovered shakily above her own for a moment then slowly and cautiously  
he placed it so their palms were pressed together. He then gently  
entwined their fingers and she squeezed his hand in reassurance that it was   
alright

She heard him take in a long, shaky breath before he began gently  
rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, making small circles. They  
glanced at each other and shared a shy smile.

It wasn't a kiss in the common room after a quidditch match.

It wasn't a date to the Yule Ball.

It most definitely wasn't a declaration of love and adoration.

But...

It was a start.


End file.
